


His Best Lies

by Pigzxo



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M, M/M, Multi, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 06:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15114101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigzxo/pseuds/Pigzxo
Summary: After weeks of being kept awake by Wynonna and Doc banging in the next room, Dolls finally asks Wynonna what she sees in him. Unfortunately, the conversation gets turned back on him, and he finds himself thinking about what he wants from both of them.





	His Best Lies

Dolls stands in the apartment’s galley kitchen waiting for the piece-of-crap coffee maker to sputter out something drinkable. So far this morning, it’s run the water through so fast the result could barely be called coffee, sprayed so hard it ended up soaking the counter top, and refused to acknowledge the presence of coffee grounds despite the fact that Dolls had checked to make sure the machine was full three separate times.

            Now, it drips at the pace of a leaky tap. Dolls stares at it in the manner one’s not supposed to watch a pot. At least the drops are dark brown and by the time the pot is full – probably several hours from now – the coffee will be strong enough for Dolls to drown his sleep-deprived sorrows in.

            A door opens somewhere down the hall and Dolls curses silently. He tries to make a quick decision – wait for the coffee or put down his BEST COP EVER mug and make a run for it – but no luck.

            Wynonna, ever limber on her feet, and hardly one to pause to pull on a pair of pants or go to the bathroom, turns into the kitchen with a yawn. For once, she’s pulled a tank top on but her nipples still show through the fabric and it’s not quite long enough to conceal her black lace underwear. “Morning, Dolls,” she says, her voice rough and scratchy with sleep.

            Dolls nods to her. He looks down into the bottom of his empty mug and considers how good his poker face is. As a cop, he has a lot of practice lying. But as a bounty hunter, Wynonna has a lot of practice catching liars. So the relative likelihood that he could pretend he’s already brewed a decent pot of coffee, drank it all, and escape the kitchen unscathed is incredibly low.

            Wynonna grabs a carton of orange juice from the fridge and then goes up on her tiptoes to reach a glass in the cabinet above. She pours half a glass, doesn’t close the spout of the carton, and then downs the juice in three, neat gulps. When she steps forward, she bangs the coffee machine with the side of her fist.

            It sputters, gasps, stops.

            Dolls rolls his eyes, about to tell her off for breaking it, when it squeals back to life. The coffee comes out steeped, dark, and in a quick, uninterrupted stream.

            “You’re welcome,” Wynonna says as she pours herself more juice.

            Dolls grunts his appreciation.

            “Did we keep you up again?” she asks.

            Dolls closes his eyes against the intrusion of the question. His hand hovers near the handle of the coffee pot – as soon as it stops pouring, he’s drinking the whole thing. But in the meantime, he has to wait through the whistle-blown silence trying to think of a good reply to what Wynonna just asked him.

            Of _course_ , they kept him up again. If Dolls had to rank the loudest sounds he’d heard in his life, Wynonna and Doc having sex would be second, wedged right between a jackhammer outside his childhood bedroom and an Aerosmith concert he went to in college. But Dolls learned from experience that it was better to leave them to it – put on the noise-cancelling headphones, blast the Netflix volume, and, if all else failed, go smoke on the roof.

            “Not any more than usual,” he replies as the coffee maker sputters out. The stream slows to a drip, sprays steam, and then quiets. Dolls forces himself to wait ten seconds before he removes the pot – the machine likes to spite him and often it’ll pour more the moment he takes the pot away. He pours enough coffee to fill his mug then moves on to fill the mug Wynonna taps against his own.

            She adds milk to hers and three spoonfuls of sugar. Dolls has always found that odd. Of all the adjectives he’d use to describe Wynonna, _sweet_ isn’t one of them.

            She hikes herself up to sit on the counter and sips her coffee. “What?” she says. “No breakfast today?”

            Dolls can’t help but smile. “You’re aware I don’t actually plan to make you breakfast, right?”

            She kicks him lightly as he settles across from her, leaning up against the stove. “I thought this place was the full service,” she says. “Doc takes care of me at night and then you run the whole thanks-for-coming-here’s-some-breakfast-don’t-let-the-door-hit-your-ass-on-the-way-out bit.”

            Dolls hums as he sips his coffee. “If Doc wanted you out, you’d know.”

            She smiles into her mug.

            And Dolls finally breaks. It’s been a little over a month of this – five and a half weeks, to be exact – and Dolls still can’t figure it out. Wynonna is strong and sexy. She makes his heart speed up just by being in the room. Sure, her mouth is a match for Doc’s and they seem to have fun all night long, but she’s a nice enough girl. Certainly nice enough that his leave-his-underwear-all-over-the-apartment, what-do-you-mean-whiskey-isn’t-a-breakfast-food, I-don’t-fall-in-love-people-fall-in-love-with-me roommate must get on her nerves.

            “What do you see in him?” Dolls blurts. And he doesn’t know if it’s the jealousy or the perverse curiosity that makes him say it. The moment she looks up at him, one eyebrow raised, he backtracks, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t... it’s none of my business.”

            She laughs. “Do you often interrogate your roommate’s one-night stands?”

            “Not if it only lasts one night,” Dolls says, “but you’ve been around a while and don’t show any signs of disappearing.”

            She shrugs and offers no explanation.

            “He never takes you anywhere. You leave before he wakes up. I haven’t seen you spend ten minutes together where you’re not fucking or getting ready to fuck.” Dolls puts his mug down and crosses his arms. He knows he’s doing that thing people hate – when he starts to be a cop, starts to interrogate them – but he can’t help himself. “So what could possibly keep you around?”

            “Ever consider that’s exactly what I want?”

            Dolls narrows his eyes. “You could find nicer men to fuck you, no strings attached.”

            She leans forward, eyes glistening. “You offering?”

            His lips curl up involuntarily – the smirk like an instinct, a gut reaction – but he pulls himself back from her. Forget that she smells like sweat and sex, that her shampoo must be some odd strawberry/whiskey combo, she’s Doc’s. And as much as Dolls hates the guy, he’s still a friend. He’s still his roommate. And there’s something about Wynonna that has caught Doc’s attention, at the very least.

            “Why Doc?” Dolls asks again. “What’s he got that the million attractive men on Tinder can’t hold a candle to?”

            Wynonna shrugs and jumps down from the counter. The space between them is suddenly non-existent – her bare leg is pressed against his jean-clad thigh, her hand is on his chest to steady herself – and she smiles. “He’s funny,” she says, “no-nonsense, isn’t gonna turn around on me in a month and confess his undying love.”

            She steps away to get more coffee. Dolls places his mostly-empty mug next to hers.

            “That’s it?” he says. “His vulgarity makes you laugh and you’re reasonably sure he won’t fall in love with you?”

            Wynonna looks up at him. “Do I need more?”

            Dolls shrugs. “Doc’s a softie at heart. I think you’re lying to yourself.”

            “Doesn’t hurt that he’s good in bed.” She pours the coffee. “Or that he’s got a big dick.”

            Dolls jerks his mug away and she splatters coffee against his skin. She curses, he curses, and in a rush, the coffeepot is put down and the sink is running cold water. Dolls tries to focus on the way the water trickles over the burn, sharp and sudden, soothing and painful all at the same time. He does not, would never, admit that his reaction has anything to do with being forced to picture Doc’s dick.

            “Sorry,” Wynonna says for what feels like the millionth time. She stands close, looking over his shoulder. Then she kind of slumps against him, her weight pressing against his back.

            “It’s okay,” he says.

            “Can’t be fun imagining your roommate’s dick.”

            He almost allows himself to believe he’s imagined the smile in her voice, the teasing tilt of her words. But as he glances over his shoulder, he knows Wynonna being nice and naive is a far-fetched fantasy. She smiles at him in a way that makes him think she’s going to swallow him whole – all Wiley Coyote, not a hint of Bugs Bunny.

            “Pour me another mug,” Dolls says.

            She steps back and fills his mug. When he turns off the tap and reaches for it, she pulls it back suddenly, holding it close to her chest. He frowns at her.

            “First, tell me what the fuck that was about.”

            “What the fuck what was about?”

            “From what I gather, you two don’t exactly get along. I’d ask Doc about it but we don’t really have much time for talking.” She sets Dolls’ mug down on the counter and then steps in front of it, arms crossed. She narrows her eyes. “So I’ve compiled a list of reasons you could be living together. One, you met on Craigslist, but the depth of your not-really-friendship speaks to more than that. Two, you’re childhood buddies but you’ve grown apart. A good fit, except Doc’s got more than a few years on you. Or, three, you really are friends, but you’re also homophobic dudebros who think hating each other is the hip way to show affection or whatever other male bullshit ideals make you think you can’t care for each other and be platonic. That one fits best.”

            Dolls nods along with her explanation and when she finishes, says, “Have you ever thought about taking the police exam?”

            “Don’t change the subject.”

            “You’d make a good officer. Look cute in the uniform too.”

            She gives him a thin, disdainful smile and then whirls around. In one smooth motion, she has his coffee mug in her hand and is holding it threateningly over the sink. “One more snarky ass remark from you and I’ll pour the rest of this into the sink.”

            Dolls shrugs.

            “And I’ll unplug your coffee machine, so that the next pot will take _at least_ another hour to make, if not more.”

            Dolls licks his lips and wills his best poker face into place. His brain is whirring, slowing down the seconds ticking by to buy himself more time. The goal? Evade Wynonna’s questions and save his coffee. Of course, he could just admit to being a homophobic dudebro but he really doesn’t think that’ll get him far with a woman whose sister has a wife.

            Then, with all the grace and timing that has helped him get through his life, Doc saves his ass. The other man makes no sound as he enters the kitchen but Dolls knows he’s there the moment he wraps his hands around his chest and squeezes him tight. His beard scrapes against Dolls’ neck and he lands a wet kiss on Dolls’ jaw.

            Dolls shoves him off. Doc passes by with a smirk and gently plucks the mug out of Wynonna’s hand. “Now, now, dear,” he says as he leans down to kiss her, “we don’t want dear Dolls here falling asleep on the job.”

            He hands the mug back to Dolls and then takes a sip out of Wynonna’s mug. “Now,” he says, “what are the two of you arguing about this fine morning?”

            Wynonna gives him a weird look. “Do you ever drop the old-timey cowboy shit?”

            Dolls laughs so hard he spits coffee across the kitchen. Doc pulls Wynonna closer to shield her from the blast as Dolls attempts to apologize, not spit more coffee, and reach for the paper towels all at the same time. The laughter shakes through him, silent, as he wipes coffee off his arm and then off the cabinets.

            “You’ve really never talked to him outside of sex, have you?” Dolls says.

            Wynonna glares at him. “It’s not necessary.”

            “Maybe not,” Doc says, “but it would be appreciated.”

            Wynonna gives him, if possible, an even more weirded-out stare.

            “No,” Dolls answers for him, “he never drops the old-timey cowboy shit.”

            Doc sighs. “What you two may call old-timey cowboy shit, the South calls being a gentleman.” He goes to tip his hat before he realizes it’s morning, he’s in his house, and he hasn’t yet gone full cowboy. Dolls wants to blame his parents for naming him after a famous gunslinger but it’s hard to think they ever encouraged this.

            “Whatever,” Wynonna says, “neither of you are going to distract me from the real mystery here.”

            “What mystery, my dear?”

            Wynonna physically steps away from him and it takes all of Dolls’ willpower to swallow his coffee instead of spitting it again. She points a finger first at Doc and then at Dolls. “The two of you,” she says, “what’s the deal?”

            Doc blinks, all innocence. “We’re old friends.”

            “What, you knew Dolls’ dad and when you got your third divorce you moved in with his son?”

            Dolls covers his mouth when he laughs.

            Doc’s innocent gentleman act wears off a little. He squares his shoulders. “If you must know, we met in the police academy.”

            Wynonna raises her eyebrows. “You’re a cop.”

            “Usually only deep cover,” Dolls says. “People don’t really like him hanging around the precinct.”

            “Something about the old-timey cowboy shit,” Doc adds.

            Wynonna smiles a little but then quickly swallows it. “Okay,” she says, “fine. That still doesn’t explain why Dolls spilled his coffee when I told him you have a big dick.”

            Dolls – _fuck_ – falters as he brings his coffee to his mouth and spills it down his chin. Luckily, it’s no longer very hot.

            “Kinda like that.”

            Doc smirks.

            Dolls meets his eyes and silently begs him to shut his damn mouth. But he knows better. Of course he does. He’s always known better than to let any situation go on long enough that his only chance to salvage it is to get Doc involved. Because Doc has never, not once in his life, done anything but make a situation worse.

            “Might have to do with the fact that we almost fucked once.”

            Wynonna’s eyes go wide but she says nothing.

            “Dolls always wanted to try again but—”

            “Fuck off,” Dolls snaps. “I’m not gay.”

            “Neither am I,” Doc says, all false innocence, honey-voiced and wide-eyed. “I believe the kids these days are calling it bisexual.”

            Dolls barely manages to swallow his groan as he turns his head to the sky. If he ever believed in God, he would have stopped the moment he met Doc. Because every single time he’s prayed to God to make Doc stop, it’s gone unanswered.

            “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Dolls, you should be more progressive.”

            “I should be more progressive?” Dolls snaps. “You dress like it’s the eighteen hundreds. The only time you talk like a fucking normal person is when you’re imitating me. I should be more progressive? You should cut the act and be a normal damn person.”

            Doc, damn him, laughs and claps Dolls on the shoulder. Dolls is suddenly all too aware of how small the kitchen is, of how little space is between the three of them. It never seems like that big of an issue when it’s just him and Doc, or just him and Wynonna, but both of them at once is short-circuiting something in his brain, making him feel hot and sweaty and claustrophobic.

            “Some defence mechanism you got there.” Doc shakes his head, the last of his laugh leaving his lips on an exhale.

            “Stop acting like a fucking psych major,” Dolls snaps but there’s no fire to it.

            Doc raises his hands in a lazy surrender and Dolls takes the opportunity.

            He leaves the kitchen, clutching his coffee mug too tight, and makes his way back to his bedroom. He can hear the dregs of Doc and Wynonna’s conversation – somehow, without him, their banter isn’t as fast or witty – but he does his best to block it out. He takes off his shirt and starts to rummage through his drawers for a fresh one. He wore green yesterday. It’s too hot to wear a sweater. The white shirt isn’t really a work shirt.

            In the background, he hears the front door close. His shoulders tense, ready, and then comes the knock on his half-open door. He doesn’t have to turn around to see Doc. He knows Doc better than he knows the back of his own hand. Doc will be leaning up against the door frame, one leg crossed over the other, either sipping coffee or chewing tobacco.

            Dolls discards another shirt.

            “You all right?” Doc says.

            “Just dandy.”

            The door creaks. Dolls knows Doc has stepped into the room.

            “I didn’t know it was a secret.”

            Dolls glares up at him. “Why else would we _never_ mention it?”

            Doc shrugs. “We were drunk. It was the Academy.” He comes to stand beside Dolls. “You never want to mention anything that has even the possibility of leading to a fight?”

            Dolls bites down on his tongue. Sometimes, when Doc drops the act a little, he can entertain the possibility of actually talking to the guy. But he knows from experience that talking to Doc is an exercise in futility, a game he’s always going to lose. So he opens the next drawer and keeps searching for a wearable shirt.

            “You can wear one of my button downs,” Doc says.

            Dolls bites back a reckless, angry remark about how it probably won’t fit him. He and Doc are roughly the same size and it helps that Doc tends to buy his shirts loose. He slams the drawer and gets to his feet.

            Doc places a hand on his arm. “Wynonna won’t tell anyone.”

            “I’m not worried about that.” Dolls walks past him, take two steps into the hall, then turns into Doc’s room. The room is, as always, somehow impeccable and a disaster zone at the same time. Unlike Dolls’ military precision clean, Doc keeps his messes in carefully contained zones. Everything has its place – even if its place is stacked onto his desk chair.

            Dolls opens the closet doors and starts to flip through Doc’s button downs.

            “What are you worried about then?”

            Dolls pauses on a grey shirt – it’s about the only one he’ll wear but choosing it means looking at Doc and maybe he doesn’t have the confidence in his poker face that he should. He shoves it aside, the hanger screeching against the metal bar. “Nothing,” Dolls says. “I’m worried you don’t respect my privacy. I’m worried we’ve outgrown each other.”

            Doc lets loose a low whistle. “So soon?”

            “It’s been years.”

            “If you want me out, Dolls, just say the word.”

            Dolls bites his bottom lip. The anger in him makes the response easy – say _yes_ , scream it if he has to, make Doc really feel all the petty grievances Dolls has held onto for years – but his affection for Doc makes the response harder. He doesn’t want to hurt Doc’s feelings. More than that, he doesn’t really want him to leave.

            So, instead of responding, Dolls says, “Why did Wynonna leave?”

            “We’re not morning people.”

            “You have morning sex all the time.”

            Doc snorts. “Once it’s out of the bedroom, all bets are off with Wynonna.”

            Dolls steals a glance at Doc out of the corner of his eyes. His heart stops for a second as he sees the goofy smile on his roommate’s face, the sparkle in his eyes. “You really like her, huh?”

            Doc meets his eyes and the smile curls in on itself, becoming colder and softer all at once. “She doesn’t want that,” Doc says. “I give her her space, her detachment, and in return, she gives me—”

            “Don’t tell me.” Dolls grabs the grey shirt and shrugs it on. He starts to do up the buttons.

            Doc steps closer, bats Dolls’ fingers away, and starts to do up the buttons himself. “She gives me what she can,” he finishes anyways, his eyes downcast. Dolls takes the opportunity to study his face, the curve of his jaw, the grey making its way into his beard. Doc chuckles and his breath warms the curve of Dolls’ neck. “It’s all I can ask of her.”

            “So you’re not as terrible as you let on.”

            Doc smiles – a real, full-bodied Doc smile – and looks up at Dolls as he does up the last button. He smoothes his hands over Dolls’ pecs and then flips the collar down with a practiced movement. “On the contrary,” he says.

            Dolls _wants_. He’s not an idiot and he knows that Doc’s whole gimmick is working for him and, even if it wasn’t, Doc looks land him firmly between middle-aged heartthrob and silver fox. And Dolls is as weak for a pretty face as anyone, as weak for a cocky smirk and self-confidence as any cop. Well, maybe more than any cop. Dolls is pretty sure he’d be fired or at least banned from interrogations if he admitted his type was self-assured asshole.

            “All better,” Doc whispers. His voice is low, rough even, and Dolls has to stop the memories. He doesn’t stay sane when he lets the memories in.

            Doc takes a step back and Dolls nods his appreciation – he’s not sure his voice will work. And after that, the morning goes on as mornings do. He makes breakfast. They banter over mouthfuls of eggs. He brushes his teeth and leaves Doc to the home office – aka illegally banking on his cop skills to be a PI on the side. Dolls lets it slide. He lets everything slide when it comes to Doc.


End file.
